


again and again

by Blake



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Established Relationship, F/F, Impact Play, Mentions of Past Internalized Homophobia, Mentions of past abuse, Name-Calling, PWP, Riding Crops, Rimming, Vaginal Fingering, Verbal Consent, between wives, it's really a lot tamer than it looks lol, just two moms having sex, laughter is good, mentions of past instances of consent issues, oh boy, oh maybe hints of consensual degradation, related to religion, trying to cover all my bases here, very brief - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:07:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25103686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blake/pseuds/Blake
Summary: Healing has so many different looks.orMargot hits Alana with a riding crop.
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Margot Verger
Comments: 11
Kudos: 49





	again and again

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiiii please check the tags to make sure this is for you. It's basically just consensual impact play with a married couple but this is the Hannibal universe. Anyways, this is so smutty and unedited and I'm shy, so... please enjoy!

There’s a subtle difference between Alana melting under her like something softening at the edges and Alana under her like clay that needs molding. Margot could never articulate the difference, but she can feel it against her palm, like the different glides of heat sweat and fever sweat.

“Aw,” she says sweetly, pityingly. She slides her hand from Alana’s hair to her wrist where it lies, belly-up and begging, on the pillow. “Does my little slut need to be tied up?” She grips enough to be teasing, thumbs across her life and heart lines. The seismic softness of Alana’s body rolls under her, opening up and sucking in.

“Yes,” Alana agrees, eyes fixed so low on Margot’s face they’re hidden completely by her bare lashes. The hand that’s slipped up under the billow of her button-up shirt to squeeze at her waist slides down to her underwear. It’s greedy and cute, the way Alana slides her hands just under the bottom hem of her panties and strokes the well-worn fissures of her stretch marks, not quite a desperate plea for Margot to remember their intimate equality, but not quite innocent to the fact that that’s how it comes across, either.

Margot grabs that other wrist and pushes both into the pillow. She’s breathless and wet at the sweet crush of grinding joints under her touch, at the reverberation of Alana’s half-swallowed sigh. Riding a surge of something heady and pure-feeling, she kneels hovered over Alana’s body, knees digging up against the soft meat of her inner thighs until they spread further, until Alana’s bright blue eyes meet hers, full of fire and love.

Margot swats lightly at Alana’s ass until she starts to roll over, and then she gets up, bends to steal one molten kiss, and walks over to the closet, following the rhythm they’ve sort of established after doing this enough times.

It took a while to trust that anything good could come of it. They fucked it up plenty of times. One time she forgot to check in with Alana and went too far, but that was easy enough to patch up with a lot of lotion and ice and apologies, plus a few long talks. Alana loved long talks.

A few other times, she forgot to check in with herself and went too far, and those times were worse. Hands frozen stiff for days by the guilt of what horrors they’re capable of doing without her even realizing it. Vulnerability locked up tight in her throat for weeks as she worried that what Alana needed from her wasn’t even her at all, but was the product of the men who had shaped the whole rotten world without giving birth to a single thing in it. The long talks didn’t work those times. Only time, forgetting, and plain old Verger stubbornness did.

But there were enough times sprinkled in there that worked well—really, really well—that it seemed worth getting the hang of. Now, here Margot is, rifling through the secret drawer in their walk-in closet dedicated to sex toys and related items. “Maybe I should have a sex dungeon built for you,” Margot grumbles as she digs for the better pair of cuffs or anything otherwise inspiring.

“And have a whole room to keep the kids from sneaking into?” Margot laughs under her breath and looks over at her wife. Her dark hair is draped across her back, pointing down to her plump, pale ass, which sticks up in the air under the attention. If someone ever asked Margot the secret to happiness, (not that she’d be considered an expert in the field,) her second answer (after “no men”) would be “being able to ogle your girl and laugh in the middle of sex.” Being rich enough to buy out the inventory of a sex store probably helps, too.

“Your little slut doesn’t have all day,” Alana sing-songs, calves and ass jiggling as she kicks her alternating feet up and down. She doesn’t do _bratty_ that often, but when she does, oh boy, does inspiration strike.

Margot takes nothing but her riding crop and sets it on the bed for Alana to see and comment on if she wants to. Alana makes moans and grinds up into the air, which is a good start. Margot doesn’t tie her up, but she stuffs a pillow up under her hips and tells her it’s the only thing she’s allowed to have. If she’s going to come, it’s going to be humping a pillow. It’s a special kind of bondage—the kind repressed teenage girls in religious households develop to utilize the “it’s not masturbation if I’m not touching myself” loophole. The kind Margot is most intimately familiar with.

Anyways, she loves watching Alana squirm, rosy-pink where she splits before grinding down again, thighs squeezing tight around the pillow.

Margot drags the tip of her crop across the ridge of Alana’s ass. “Want this?” she asks, even though she can see the answer in Alana’s body language.

“Yes,” Alana hisses. It’s odd, how her voice can still have this cautious, transactional quality to it in moments like these. Maybe it’s odder that it turns Margot on that they can do this without pretense or play, and just give each other what they need.

That rosy pink splits wide open again as Alana’s ass rises up into the first strike. Margot’s mouth waters, folds around the imagined shape of all she could fit her lips to. But Alana’s only allowed to use the pillow, so Margot will help her get there. The flesh of Alana’s ass undulates as she hits the right cheek, then the left, aiming for the meaty part around the middle where Alana tends to like it best. Then she hits up and down a bit, checking for the spot Alana arches up into most today in particular. Red blooms across her white skin. Margot can’t breathe for how badly she wants to see it bruise before her eyes, like watching someone come.

“Fuck,” Alana grunts, loud and harsh. “Feels so good, fu—” She trails off into a gasp as Margot’s light tapping across her tailbone is cut off by an unexpected strike at the top of her left thigh. Margot loves to watch the skin give under her pressure. She loves to watch Alana’s body shake in that peculiar pleasure brought on by tenderly, thoughtfully applied pain.

She lets Alana grind on the pillow for a few moments uninterrupted, smiling at the thought that just yesterday, in this very bed, they giggled themselves to sleep exchanging stories of summer camp crushes they didn’t realize were crushes at the time. Healing has so many different looks.

Then she hits the same spot relentlessly, repeatedly, hard, until Alana’s writhing and grunting and color is spreading fast. She looks so hot like this, rocking pitifully between the crop and the pillow in no predictable pattern, the stretch marks across the lower half of her snapping spine winking like light shifting across chopping water, shining drool gathering between her legs and spreading as she moves until she’s nothing but a red, swollen shimmer meant to be pried apart by Margot’s tongue.

“You love this, don’t you?” Margot’s almost surprised by how quiet her own voice is, but she’s more concerned with the rhythm of mean snapping strikes across Alana’s thighs before finding her way back to the satisfying sway of meaty ass cheek, where she can hit bone-deep and still have Alana reach for more.

“Yes, Daddy, I love it, Daddy.” Alana’s hands grope squeeze the pillow under her head like she’s just as desperately affected by the words as Margot is—and Margot is pitifully wet in the puddle of her underwear. She grinds down on the back of Alana’s thigh, too far-gone to effectively deny Alana the touch. Margot never feels more powerful than when she’s Daddy, than when Alana is half-rolling under her, arching into any touch she can get and whining her name.

Margot pulls away with the intent to give Alana’s skin and nervous system a break, but Alana shifts to squeeze the pillow tight between her thighs with newfound determination and rolls her hips fast and hard, apparently close to coming. Margot bites her lip in hunger and just watches those thighs spasm and flex, watches the swollen flesh of her ass rock stiffly as Alana comes using nothing but the pillow and the clench of her own muscles, just as instructed.

Margot doesn’t wait for an official finish. She pushes Alana flat again, pulls her own underwear to the side, and grinds wetly against the sore swell of Alana’s ass until she comes, soft, fast, and easy.

She licks her own mess off of Alana’s skin first, and then soothes everything she hit with her tongue. Last, she fits her mouth over the soft pucker of Alana’s asshole and lets her fingers sweep through the mess underneath and split her apart, taking her everywhere at once.

“You did good,” she assures Alana between playful flicks of her tongue, but really, she just wants to watch her own fingers slip out and then in again. “Even without being tied up.”

Alana laughs, sounding sort of giddy. Margot fucks her fingers in deep and soft until the laughter starts to trail off. Maybe she is an expert in happiness after all.


End file.
